Kort: but I mean if you did I would understand, personally

I threw my phone on my dresser and flopped back onto the bed.

I allowed myself twenty minutes to curl into the tiniest ball I could. Squeeze my eyes shut. Breathe in the scents barely still present on my pillows—citrus perfume and sex—and feel what I wanted to feel: complete devastation.

My brain was a torpedo of Lily: her voice slicing me wide open. Her hips swinging as she sunk herself low, low, low on the dance floor. The ghost of her thighs pressed tight against mine, warm skin against warm skin. Her hands curving over my shoulders, my chest, my hips when we were at the bar, telling me I could look sexy. The echo of her laugh, tingling in my ear, sinking down to my toes. The comfort of waking up next to her, ankle hooked around mine, mouth full of questions. Wanting to know me. Making me feel like I was interesting and worthwhile.

She had come to me, back at Moonie’s. She. Had come. To me.

I curled myself inward. Clenched my fists. Let the sadness flow over me like a wave.

And then I took a deep, ragged breath. I drank a full glass of water and took three ibuprofen. I fed Simon and Garfunkel. I brushed my teeth.

I steeled myself for the day, and for tomorrow, and the day after that.

I wasn’t going to be dramatic about this. I was not.

And I wasn’t, for a while. Because, well. I fell back asleep.

And was only woken up hours later by a loud, jolting pounding on my door.

I would have ignored it if I could, but I had this neighbor Agnes who was older and got confused sometimes. She definitely shouldn’t be living by herself, but I didn’t know what to do about it, other than open the door when she knocked and answer her questions about the weather report, and assure her that the truck that backfired last night in the street had not been a gunshot, and listen to her talk about Jackie Onassis sometimes.

Anyway, it wasn’t Agnes.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, friend.” Kort pushed past me into my apartment, and I couldn’t even block her because she was carrying a small human on her chest.

“Have you been checking your phone? We were worried.”

I closed the door behind Claire, who was my oldest friend. Who was going to make me talk about my feelings. Fuck.

“Uh. No. Hold on.”

I escaped to my bedroom and picked up my phone.

Claire: Sam, can you respond?? I want to make sure you’re not dead

Kort: no, she’s just feeling guilty and thinks you hate us

Kort: but I hope you’re not dead, too, for the record